


Dirty Pop

by ChampagneSly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Humor, Kink Meme, M/M, Romance, pop music is the best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 04:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In attempt to promote Scandinavia (or least that's how mastermind Denmark tries to sell it!), the Nordics form a boy band! This is the story of their rise to European pop fame, as told by a Sweden who's got a fan club of hot guys as he tries to figure out just what the hell is going on with Finland! </p><p>Featuring: A healthy dose of crack, ABBA, Viking war strategies, reminders of the heyday of awesomely bad pop, inappropriate pants, and a heap of Nordic bonding. </p><p>(gift to Kosame, for her fanaticism.)</p><p>Originally published in 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kosame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kosame/gifts).



Looking back, Sweden wished he had just clicked delete the minute the email from Denmark hit his inbox. Unfortunately, it was his diplomatic duty to read emails from another nation, particularly one with the subject line “IMPORTANT: IDEA FOR PROMOTING TOURISM IN SCANDINAVIA.”    
  
Admittedly, Sweden had his doubts from the outset; having put up with some of Denmark’s more notorious good ideas during their long history, but then again, the man had once ruled the North Sea with an iron fist and made a pretty decent sales pitch when he put his mind to it. So, it was with half-hearted interest that Sweden opened the email that was going to change the course of his current life.   
  
**From: Kingdom of Denmark  
To: Kingdom of Sweden**   
  
_Sweden!  
  
What’s up, buddy? Long time, no speaking from me, glaring from you! Guess what? I have had the most amazing idea for increasing tourism and visibility in Scandinavia, and I definitely, totally, need your help to pull it off. _   
  
“So far, so annoying,” Sweden grumbled to himself, continuing to read the missive while keeping one eye on the stock ticker on the bottom of his screen and absently sipping his coffee.   
  
_So here’s my idea, and I know you are going to love it, being the country that produced pretty much the greatest pop group ever:  
  
We should start a Nordic boy band! _   
  
And Sweden’s computer screen was promptly covered in coffee. “What the hell?!,” was his sole coherent thought as he hastily cleaned the spewed beverage from his monitor. “Denmark’s always been a little…off…but this… this is beyond the pale even for him.” It was so spectacularly insane, that Sweden couldn’t keep himself from reading further.   
  
_I know, right? Completely genius! Seriously, though, think about it! There hasn’t been a big splashy five member boy band in since JT ran off to be hilarious on SNL. And what do you know… between you, me, Finland, Norway, and Iceland, we’ve got five hot guys ready to go and rock the world. I’ve already thought of a name for us, too! Wait for it…  
  
The Nordic Five!!   
  
Get it? Like the Jackson Five, but Scandinavian! _   
  
Sweden thought his brain might be melting from sheer incredulity. “Really, the Nordic Five? How lame.”    
  
_We don’t even have to come up with fake names! It can be our shtick with our fans, going as our nations! Adds to the allure and all that! Picture it….  
  
Me---incredibly gorgeous and captivating lead that the girls wanna do and the boys wanna be  
Norway and Iceland---mysterious and sullen brothers who drive the ladies wild wondering what’s going through their minds  
Finland---Our very own, hotter, more age appropriate Justin Bieber type. Cuteness overload!  
You----The intimidating and stoic one with enough smolder to overcome any fear you may instill (And since I know the ladies aren’t really your thing, I promise that goes over well the dudes too!)   
  
Something for everyone! We’ll be un-fucking-stoppable!_   
  
Sweden blinked, and blinked again, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or make an appointment to beat some sense into Denmark.   
  
_Anyways, I know you’re probably so blown away by the sheer brilliance of my idea that you need a minute to consider, but let me know ASAP. I’ve already asked France to start dreaming up some sweet costumes for us (sorry, Sweden, I refuse to work the sequins and polyester of yesteryear).  
  
Later,  
Denmark  
  
_ For several minutes Sweden sat in numb shock, unable to process what had just been proposed. It made a strange kind of sense, he supposed, if you were bat-shit crazy like Denmark. And yet, he was most definitely passing on this once-in-a-lifetime offer. He hit reply, head still spinning.   
  
**Re: IMPORTANT: IDEA FOR PROMOTING TOURISM IN SCANDINAVIA  
From: Kingdom of Sweden  
To: Kingdom of Denmark**   
  
_No.  
Are you insane (r)?”  
  
-S _   
  
He hit send and promptly backed away from the computer, fearful of what might come next. Sweden was right to be afraid, as he’d only just managed to stand up and take a calming look out over Stockholm, before the tell-tale reply “ding!” sounded.   
  
Apprehensive, he opened Denmark’s response:   
  
**Re: IMPORTANT: IDEA FOR PROMOTING TOURISM IN SCANDINAVIA  
From: Kingdom of Denmark  
To: Kingdom of Sweden**   
  
_Don’t be like that! It will be awesome, I swear. When I have ever led you wrong?”_   
  
Sweden snorted, having very clear memories of decades worth of Denmark leading him wrong.   
  
_Besides, you have to say yes. Iceland and Norway already did.  
-D_   
  
Feeling slightly betrayed by his fellow Nordics’ willingness to go along with this idiocy, Sweden took a moment to take stock.   
  
“Well,” Sweden contemplated, “I suppose Iceland was sold on the whole getting more tourism and attention out of this idea. He’s been feeling a little desperate lately. Besides, who knows what goes on in that guy’s head most of the time. But Norway…what the hell is he thinking? I would have thought that he would be the first to hand Denmark his ass over something this crazy.”   
  
Confused and annoyed, Sweden composed a one word forward to Norway:   
  
**FW: IMPORTANT: IDEA FOR PROMOTING TOURISM IN SCANDINAVIA  
From: Kingdom of Sweden  
To: Kingdom of Norway**   
  
_Why?  
  
-S_   
  
His face drained of all color at the horrific possibilities Norway’s reply conjured:   
  
**Re: FW: IMPORTANT: IDEA FOR PROMOTING TOURISM IN SCANDINAVIA  
From: Kingdom of Norway  
To: Kingdom of Sweden**   
  
_He wouldn’t leave me alone until I said yes. Texts, calls, emails, mailing me Backstreet Boys cds. He even showed up with that horrid 3-D movie that American kid made. I had to give in to spare myself.  
I advise you to do the same.   
  
-N _   
  
It was wise, perhaps, to do what Norway suggested and spare himself the antics of an enthusiastic driven Denmark, but Sweden was a stubborn man with an old streak of rebelliousness where Denmark was concerned. Steeling himself for the onslaught, he replied to Denmark:   
  
**Re: IMPORTANT: IDEA FOR PROMOTING TOURISM IN SCANDINAVIA  
From: Kingdom of Sweden  
To: Kingdom of Denmark**   
  
_Answer’s still no. And don’t think you can harass me into it like you did with Norway.  
-S_ _  
  
_ Resolute in his position, Sweden stepped out for lunch, even giving himself permission to have beer. He was feeling good about life walking under the spring sun, indulging in fanciful thoughts of asking Finland to go to dinner with him sometime soon, this time not without and work related pretense.    
  
It was all going swimmingly, his fantasy having progressed to Finland offering him a bite of his dessert from his own fork, only to return to his desk and find:   
  
**Re: IMPORTANT:TRUMP CARD TIME  
From: Kingdom of Denmark  
To: Kingdom of Sweden**   
  
_I really didn’t want to have to play dirty like this, but you leave me no other option.  
  
Finland said yes, too. (I told him if we got famous enough he could meet Conan O’Brien). _   
  
Sweden swore under his breath. Denmark could be so irritatingly astute when he wanted to be, though Sweden supposed it didn’t take much to figure out his feelings for Finland, seeing as how they’d been there for all to see for several centuries.    
  
As Denmark doubtless intended, the tiniest tendrils of temptation started to grow. A chance to spend time with Finland, doing something that had nothing to do with their nationhood, was a rare thing, a precious opportunity. Though Sweden wished desperately that it wasn’t so, their relationship had suffered following the dissolution of their union and Finland’s subsequent struggles for independence. As soon as Finland had broken free, he’d wanted to go back to how it was when Finland shared his house and his life, wanting to make overtures that now they were both no longer bound by obligation they could be really be together.    
  
As it turned out, his centuries long love had almost certainly always been unrequited, as nice as the mirage of the past had seemed. Shortly after his independence, Finland gently but firmly quashed his hopes, making it clear that while Sweden was a friend, an ally whom he cared for, he couldn’t (or worse, Sweden feared, wouldn’t) even begin to contemplate a romance between them until he knew what it was to be his own nation. And then he kept his distance, wider than the sea that divided the, guarding his heart from Sweden’s intense stare.   
  
That had been more than ninety years ago. Ever since, Sweden had been tentatively, but stubbornly, trying to repair and rebuild their relationship, seeking any reason to spend time together. He’d actually made such progress in recent years that Sweden had begun to rekindle those old dreams, daring to believe that if he asked Finland out sometime in the next 5 – 10 years he might say yes.   
  
But this…this idiot plan of Denmark’s…it would be a perfectly legitimate excuse to hang out all the time. No work, no bosses…late nights in clubs, recording studios, and if Denmark’s predictions of grandeur were correct, long hours on tour buses. And, as members of a boy band, there was the very tempting possibility that there would be tight and/or revealing clothing involved.    
  
Resolved weakened, he forced himself from his reverie to finish reading his email,   
  
_Finland said yes, too.  
And you know what that means. Tight jeans, ripped shirts, and one very good looking Finland proudly on display for hoards of screaming, lusty fans. (I can’t wait! Think of all the ass I’m gonna get!) But Finland, he’s so sweet and cute...you wouldn’t want to leave him all alone?  
  
I’ll go ahead and count you in. Be at my place in a week—I gotta find someone to write some songs for us!  
  
-D  
  
Ps—I told France that he could personally do our measurements so prepare to be groped. _   
  
Simultaneously entranced by the idea of sexy pop-star Finland and horrified by the thought of lusty Finland fans, Sweden knew he’d been beaten. He was now, officially, a member of The Nordic Five.    
  
Resigned to his fate, and determined to make as much of this opportunity as he could, Sweden composed one last email, knowing it always best to be prepared:   
  
**Subject: Help!  
To: Anni-Frid Lyngstad; Bjorn Ulvaeus; Benny Andersson; Agnetha Faltskog**   
  
_Any advice on being a Swedish pop-star?  
  
Sweden _


	2. Chapter 2

Much to his chagrin, Sweden found himself a little excited by the whole boy band endeavor as he sat waiting with Norway and Iceland in Denmark’s basement, which had miraculously been transformed into a recording studio at some point. He started to suspect that Denmark may have been plotting this adventure into pop music stardom for quite some time. Uncharitably, he wondered if this little scheme had started percolating in Denmark’s twisted little mind sometime following the return of Swedish domination of the pop charts with Ace of Base’s mid-nineties ascendancy.    
  
He was startled out of his musings on all the many ways in which his country was vastly superior to Denmark by the entrance of Finland, accompanied by a very smug Denmark, and a smarmy France. Sweden couldn’t decide which expression best communicated, “Hello, I love you; Hello, I think you’re an idiot; and Hello, touch Finland and die,” simultaneously, so he settled for his general blank glare. By some stroke of luck, Finland settled in next to him, smiling and whispering hello. He was about to respond in kind, only to be interrupted by Denmark’s excited voice as he paced in front of them,    
  
“Okay, this is it! The very first meeting of the world’s next greatest boy band---The Nordic Five! Man, we’re gonna be so amazing! Who’s psyched?”   
  
Crickets chirped, before France and Finland made some vague murmurs of enthusiasm. Denmark continued, undeterred by the lack of support,    
  
“Whatever, I should have known better to expect anything out of you three,” pointing at Sweden, Norway, and Iceland, “but we’re all in this together, right?!”   
  
Collectively sighing, Sweden and his fellow silent nations nodded.    
  
“Great! So, we have a name and shtick, which is awesome, but now we have to decide what kind of group we want to be. We have two choices! One: five singing and dancing hotties ala Backstreet Boys,”   
  
“No.” Norway interrupted first.   
  
“No!” Iceland echoed.   
  
“No.” Sweden grunted, driving the final nail into that coffin.   
  
Denmark rolled his eyes, “Color me surprised. Fine, we’ll go with option two: a real band, with singers and those who prefer not to be rockstars getting all the praise and adoration serving as my and Finland’s back-up musicians. Fine?”   
  
Finland bounced in his seat, chirping, “Sounds fun!”   
  
Norway answered for Sweden and Iceland, “If by fun you mean an experience of abject humiliation. But fine, we’ll do it. So long as there is no singing and dancing.”   
  
That settled Denmark plowed ahead with his next agenda item, “Fucking fantastic. Sweden, you’re tall and forbidding. You play bass, especially since I know you know how. Norway, you have the mean mysterious thing going for you….you take the guitar. That leaves the drums for you, Iceland. Just make it look good and technology will handle the rest.”   
  
Sweden blushed when Finland leaned over, murmuring into his ear, “I didn’t know you could play, Sweden!”   
  
He mumbled, red-faced, “Mm. Time in the Seventies when I thought it might be useful.”   
  
Finland looked intrigued until Denmark snapped his fingers in their faces, demanding attention, “Listen up! So, now that we took care of those small, we’re gonna let France dress up in some sweet threads and then get to work on gaining some much needed notoriety!”   
  
“And how do you propose we do that, dear Leader?” Norway asked flatly.   
  
Delighted to have been asked, Denmark replied, “Duh! We’re gonna put up videos of us being badass on Youtube and wait for the music biz to come calling! It worked for Justin Bieber, it will definitely work for us.”   
  
Grudgingly, Sweden had to admit that actually made sense. Again, he had to wonder how long Denmark had been planning this.    
  
“And, what exactly, are we supposed to be performing in these videos, seeing as how we’ve got no songs?” Norway asked, clearly growing more annoyed that he couldn’t find a flaw in Denmark’s logic.   
  
Denmark ruffled Norway’s hair, seemingly unaffected by his Doubting Thomas act, “We’ll do cover songs, of course, until this dude I paid to write an album for us finishes! I’ve got one picked out for me to sing and one for Finland, too!”    
  
Sweden couldn’t help but notice (because he was staring) that Finland looked adorably excited. He was practically squirming in his seat. Sighing, Norway finally crumbled, “Fine. This may actually work.”   
  
Denmark beamed, “It so will! Trust me.” He gestured to Finland and called over to France, “France! Do me and Finland, first, since we’ve gotta work on our vocals.”   
  
France grinned lasciviously, “With pleasure! Just let me know how you where to do it.”   
  
“Well, I was thinking in my bedroom, since there’s more room.”   
  
Sweden began to grow alarmed at the direction of this conversation, and fearing for Finland’s virtue, he growled, “For trying on clothes, France!”   
  
Wilting under the Sweden’s glare, France sulked, “Yes, of course, whatever else could I have been intending. Well, come along, you two.”   
  
Finland bounded out of the room, closely followed by Denmark, until he was stopped by Iceland’s quiet question, “So, what exactly, are you planning to sing, Denmark?”    
  
Denmark smirked, “What else? SexyBack!” Laughing, he flounced out of the room, leaving Norway, Iceland, and Sweden to sit in silence.   
  
As they were wont to do, Sweden’s thoughts drifted to Finland. While he still wasn’t sold on this whole boy band thing being a particularly good idea, it was nice to see Finland so excited and happy. He supposed he could endure Denmark’s crazy for a little longer if he got to spend time with this smiling, warm, Finland. And while he didn’t love the idea of Finland being touched by that handsy-pervert, Sweden daydreamed about how Finland would look dressed to impress.   
  
His reverie was interrupted by Iceland’s amused chuckle, as he broke the quiet, “SexyBack. How apropos.”    
  
Norway snorted, apparently not as convinced of Denmark’s appeal. Sweden had to agree, deriding their new lead singer, “He’s bringing something back. Sexy is debatable.”   
  
Iceland speared him with a mischievous look, “Now, now, Sweden. Don’t be so harsh. Hmm…I wonder what song YOU would pick to sing?”   
  
Nervous as to where Iceland was headed with this, Sweden shook his head and glared, daring Iceland to continue his line of thought.   
  
Unfortunately, after centuries of exposure Iceland wasn’t fazed by his scary face, “I bet I know which song. Considering it was written about you and a certain someone.”   
  
Sweden swallowed, flushing bright red.  _“Damn it, I never should have played Truth or Dare with this guy! He knows too many of our secrets, the cagey bastard!”_   
  
Even Norway roused himself enough to be interested in Iceland’s claim, insisting, “Do tell. Which little ditty is about our very own star crossed lovers?”   
  
Sweden looked at the door desperately hoping that Finland wouldn’t walk back in witness his humiliation.    
  
Iceland smiled, slow and evil, “ Take a Chance on Me.  By Sweden’s beloved ABBA.”    
  
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"   
  
Too amused to be blasé, Norway laughed so hard tears started leaking from the corners of his eyes. Sweden wished he could disappear.    
  
“Shut-up.” He mumbled, attempting to recover the situation.   
  
Norway asked, while continuing to laugh as though his life depended upon it, “What the hell? You had ABBA write a “please take me back song” for Finland? God, does he even know?”   
  
Hurriedly, Sweden tried to explain, “No! Don’t tell him! Jesus, it was the Seventies, he hadn’t talked to me in years, I was desperate and they asked if they could help, ok? It didn’t work, so just drop it.”    
  
Fortunately, Norway stopped laughing just as the door opened to mark Finland and Denmark’s return. Sweden was so caught up in his mortification that he couldn’t even properly appreciate the way the low-slung white pants accentuated Finland’s ass, or give full attention to the tempting stretch of his stomach peeking out from under his too small blue shirt. Life was too cruel, sometimes.    
  
France, looking like he had died and gone to a heaven filled only with ready and willing Nordic men, dreamily called out for Norway and Iceland to follow him upstairs. Mind still reeling, Sweden barely noted Denmark preening in his cliché black leather pants as he pushed Finland towards the sound booth, cackling, “Dude, we look so good! Once the world gets a look at our hotness, there’ll be no going back! Now get in there and start practicing.”   
  
Finland smiled, giving Denmark a cheery thumbs up. Denmark flopped down next to Sweden, oblivious to Sweden’s lingering distress. He nudged Sweden, speaking lowly, so as not to interrupt Finland’s impending performance, “I picked the most perfect song for him! He’s totally got that sexy innocence with a touch of naughty working for him. And lucky us, he’s not jail bait like the Biebs.”   
  
Sweden had to agree, he’d always been helpless in the face of Finland’s charming sweetness and tragically attracted to his moments of unexpected rebelliousness. He just preferred that no one else be cognizant of these qualities. As the song started, his irritation with Denmark faded into the background, as he sat entranced, watching the far-too-irresistible sway of Finland’s hips, as he moved to the beat.  _“God damn,_ " he thought desperately,  _“I may not survive this.”_   
  
And then Finland started to sing, “I just need somebody to love / I don’t need too much / Just somebody to love.”*    
  
And while the lyrics were middling at best, insipid at worst, poor Sweden couldn’t help himself from wanting to shout “Pick me! Pick me! You can love me!” as Finland sang, turning around to perform for him and Denmark.    
  
As he squirmed in his seat, trying to will away a certain growing problem, Denmark moved to swat at him to stay still, until he picked up on Sweden’s intense discomfort, smirking and poking Sweden in the side.    
  
Just when he thought he might pass out from pop-induced lust, Norway and Iceland returned, sporting their new rockstar attire. France was leaning on the door frame, beckoning for Sweden to go face his doom.   
  
Sweden shuddered,  _”Well, at that least took care of one problem,”_  before rising and leaving the room with a parting look of yearning at the still shimmying Finland.    
  
And yet for all the humiliation he suffered that afternoon in Denmark’s basement as they recorded the Youtube videos of the Nordic Five performing covers of Justin Timberlake’s “ SexyBack ” and Justin Bieber’s “ Somebody to Love, ” (videos that were going to soon open a whole other can of worms), Sweden would always remember it as the day that everything finally changed.    
  
Finally free of France’s clutches, Sweden made his way back down to the group, France trailing happily behind him. He’d been forcibly dressed in long, tight, dark blue jeans that just barely cleared his hip bones and a black tank top so tight it should have been illegal. He’d even had his hair mussed to be in the style of what the Frenchman flippantly referred to as “freshly fucked.” France assured him that if he just lost the glare, he’d be sexy enough to melt the paint off of walls. Needless to say, at that moment Sweden’s angry look was enough to frighten the paint of walls.    
  
Just as they entered the room, France stopped him, circling him with a critical eye. The others paused their rehearsal to watch the scene play out. Sweden refused to meet anyone’s eyes, cheeks flushing for what seemed like the 1,000 time that afternoon.   
  
France tapped his chin thoughtfully, “Hmm, something’s missing. What can I do really elevate this magnificent creation of mine to the next level.”   
  
To Sweden’s horror, France reached out and swiftly popped open the button of his jeans, “Voila! The perfect little piece of temptation.”   
  
Sweden was contemplating murder when he chanced a look at Finland. All thoughts of murder promptly disappeared, only to be replaced by a sudden appreciation for both French styling and Danish bad ideas.    
For the first time in far too long, Finland was looking at him with open admiration, curiosity and lust playing across his features, and maybe, just maybe, Sweden thought he saw a hint of angry jealousy being tossed in France’s direction.    
  
_“And, finally, he looks at me like he might want me back.”_   
  
If this is what being in a boy band got him, Sweden resolved to be the best damned pop star the world had ever seen.    
  
Now they just had to make it big. 


	3. Chapter 3

True to Denmark’s prediction, and with a little help from some very tech savvy friends who were coerced into putting their skills to good use by Finland’s irresistible pout, the two Youtube videos went viral. By the end of the month, the Nordic 5 was a genuine internet smash, Denmark’s hip thrusting to their gritty rendition of SexyBack gracing the Facebook walls of countless enthralled teenaged girls. There was already a “fuckyeahfinland!” tumblr account dedicated to the adoration of Finland’s adorableness (Sweden had it bookmarked) and an unsettling amount of speculation floating around about the mysterious relationship between the guitarist and the drummer. Needless to say, Denmark was thrilled by their quick rise to internet fame and determined to capitalize upon it as quickly as possible before their popularity was eclipsed by the latest cute cat video.   
  
However, as with all good things in life, the meteoric rise of The Nordic Five to the heights of fame on the internets had other consequences. For one, their bosses were less than pleased to see their nations shaking their collective asses for the masses. Sweden had endured a series of very embarrassing meetings and phone calls with both his Prime Minister and King Gustav, who demanded to know exactly what would motivate him to participate in such a pedestrian and potentially exposing activity.    
  
He couldn’t use the economic justification like Iceland (lucky bastard) and somehow, “I wanted to try to get closer to my ex, you know how it is,” just didn’t seem like it would be very convincing. Eventually, he mumbled something about wanting to promote Scandinavia and inter-country relations, promising to be as discreet as possible about his identity and not to bring anything but good PR to Sweden. He also had to put down in writing that he would no longer unilaterally accept any of Denmark’s proposals without consent from the Prime Minister or the King, regardless of how innocuous they might seem.    
  
When he related this to Denmark, who had apparently already heard a similar story from a recently chastised Norway, Denmark just laughed, pointed at the hit count for their Youtube account and said that their dear leaders could, “Go fuck themselves because the Nordic Five was about to become the biggest thing to hit Scandinavia since Knud the Great!”   
  
There was one other group of people who felt entitled to express their feelings about their little boy band experiment. And express their feelings they did. As Norway, Iceland, Finland, and Sweden lounged around Denmark’s basement-cum-recording studio, waiting for Denmark to show up and give direction to what he referred to as “awesome band meetings for plotting world domination,” they swapped gossip.    
  
“I heard from Estonia, who heard it from Lithuania, who was with them at the time, that Poland and Hungary watched the videos like 15 times in one night and declared The Nordic Five, ‘Like totally hot!' They’ve been sharing the videos with like everyone in their nations!” Finland related with glee.    
  
Iceland nodded, “Hong Kong told me that Japan and China thought it was a very good idea. Apparently this sort of boy group is pretty popular in their countries, so I think we can count on their support.”    
  
Norway looked bored, but roused himself enough to share, “Some idiot calling himself “Prussia_teh_awesome” has been trolling the videos and the fan sites with posts about how lame and not at all awesome we are. Loser.”    
  
The door flew open and Denmark bounded in, breathlessly agreeing, “How right you are, Norway! Prussia is a total loser who wishes he could be bad ass enough for us.”    
  
Norway snorted, brushing off the hand that Denmark had dared to place on his shoulder in band-ly solidarity, “He’s only marginally more idiotic than you.”    
  
Denmark ignored this, handing out stacks of paper and a CD to each member of the group, continuing to chatter away, “Ha! The only one worse than Prussia is America. That little punk wrote me this pissy email claiming that his country was the best ever at creating pop bands, how dare we try to get in on his game, and that no one was going to want our Euro Trash in his nation.”   
  
Sweden rolled his eyes, offended that America just conveniently forgot his own country’s storied history of producing amazing pop groups, “Estonia says most of our internet traffic comes from the States. That guy is a moron.”   
  
Denmark gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, “Couldn’t have said it better myself, Sweden! He’ll be crying into his Big Mac someday soon when we win the hearts of thousands of his hottest women in Madison Square Garden!”   
  
Norway cleared his throat, “As charming as I find your delusions of grandeur, perhaps we should think about having an actual album, maybe a record deal before we go pillaging America?”    
  
Denmark stood tall, hands on his hips, looking very much like he used to as he commanded his fleet of marauders, “Done and done! What I just handed you is our new set of songs, lyrics, and a demo recording by yours truly! I am calling what is sure to be the greatest record of all time, “Perpetual Holiday!” What do you think?”   
  
The rest of the group shared a look and shrugged, it seemed like a reasonable enough name for a band cheesy enough to be called The Nordic Five.    
  
“Awesome! I knew you would love it. The fans are going to eat it up, I swear. Man, I am good!” Denmark smiled wide, clearly pleased with how well his pet project was progressing.   
  
“You said something about a recording deal…” Iceland prompted, momentarily derailing Denmark’s self-congratulations.    
  
“Right, thank you! So Canada calls me the other day out of the blue and says he’s got some music executives that he’s talked into signing us. Awesome, huh?”   
  
Finland looked cutely confused, “Umm, yes…but why did Canada do that?”   
  
Denmark laughed loudly, “Who cares? I think he mostly wanted to really stick it to his idiot brother by helping us, but we’ve got a deal, thanks to him.”   
  
Sweden appreciated the pleasure that could be had from doing something to deliberately annoy one’s older, obnoxious brother and made a mental note to give Canada a hearty pat on the back the next time he saw him.    
  
Denmark clapped his hands, “But! We’ve gotta have the first single ready to launch in two weeks and the album done in like a month!”   
  
Finland gaped, “Why so fast?! We don’t even know these songs!”   
  
“Part of the recording contract, bro! The executives are worried that our internet popularity is already starting to wane. I mean, have you see that latest cat in a box video? Hilarious! Anyways, we best to get working our sexy asses off. This is merely the next step to total Nordic world domination!” Denmark cackled with evil pleasure.   
  
As the group trudged towards the sound booth, Sweden was beginning to suspect this whole boy band thing had way too much in common with their Viking days for comfort.    
  
The next few weeks were a whirlwind of activity, all propelled forward by a determined and tireless Denmark. While signing papers and listening to official speeches, Sweden tapped out beats with his foot under the table, humming the lyrics to their new songs while sitting through long meetings, casting a wary eye as Denmark continued to add events to his already packed calendar.    
  
There were rehearsals and recordings after days of mind-numbing budget hearings, teleconferences with their account manager from Canada either first thing in the morning or the late in the evening, clothing fittings with France after lunches with diplomats, and finally performances to give in any club that Denmark could book, gay, straight or otherwise on the weekends. It was exhausting.    
  
_And to think the pop life always looks so glamorous on TV_ , Sweden mused as he slumped on Denmark’s couch, irritated with the itchiness of his overly tight jeans, feeling sweaty and sore from the night’s vigorous rehearsal. Then Finland flopped down next to him, similarly flushed and slightly sweaty from exertion, sliding down so that his shoulders aligned with Sweden, seeming to use the larger man and comfortable and convenient support.  _Well, this is kind of nice_ , Sweden thought as he slyly shifted closer, letting his thigh press up against Finland’s.    
  
Eyes closed, Finland pouted, “Denmark is such a slave driver! Being in a boy band is freaking hard work! My boss is kind of annoyed that I keep falling asleep in meetings with him.”   
  
Sweden grunted in sympathetic agreement, muttering something about Denmark needing to let them go home already.    
  
Finland took up the case, calling out to Denmark, who was ensconced in the studio, fiddling excitedly with the dials, “Denmark! Can we please leave now? I have to meet with the Finance Minister at 8:30am tomorrow and it’s not exactly a five minute trip back to Helsinki, you know!”   
  
Denmark brushed him off with a wave of the hand. Norway chimed in from where he was laying on the floor, “Idiot. It is after midnight, some of us have lives outside of this nonsense.”   
  
“Just wait! Two more minutes! I promise it will be worth it!” Denmark called out, voice laden with badly suppressed excitement.    
  
All of a sudden the room flooded with sound of a popular Copenhagen DJ introducing, “The hot new single from the hottest new Scandinavian sensation on the internet! So here it is, for the first time ever folks, “Perpetual Holiday” by The Nordic Five.”   
  
Sweden sat up bolt straight, as Norway flew to his feet and Iceland came running in from the kitchen, eyes wide as the first chords of their very first song were played on the radio for the first time. Denmark was smiling so brightly it could have lit the room. It was a strange and wonderful experience to hear Denmark and Finland’s voices filling the airwaves, knowing that the song was reaching tens of thousands of listeners. As they held their breath listening to the song play out, slowly but surely, each of the members of the band also came to sport matching grins, knowing without doubt that this moment was the start of something new, something big, something crazy. The song was catchy and summery, bound to be a hit.    
  
But what Sweden remembered best of all, as they shared that ecstatic moment, was that Finland had grabbed his hand when the song came on, holding it the whole way through, their fingers laced together as the song played. He didn’t let go until Denmark busted out the champagne.    
  
It was on. Life was about to get wild. 


	4. Chapter 4

If The Nordic Five thought hearing their single played on the radio for the first time was exhilarating, they were soon to discover that particular experience was swiftly surpassed by the first time a band hears its own song being sung by a crowd of happy, excited fans, dancing and shouting beneath the stage. “Perpetual Holiday” was a summer smash hit across Europe, being played in dance clubs for beach goers and tourists, dominating the airwaves as light-hearted entertainment for those people piling into cars and heading off on vacation. The enthusiasm for The Nordic Five’s debut album was building to such a fever pitch in Europe that the Canadian record executives determined that they needed to be on the ground, watching the progress, to witness the phenomena for themselves.    
  
So Denmark, Finland, Norway, Iceland and Sweden found themselves in front of a sellout crowd of at least 5,000 that included a contingent of Canadian execs stashed away in a VIP booth, in one of Oslo’s most popular clubs, writhing fans and partiers crammed on every level the multi-level building, sound system booming and strobe lights flashing. France, with help from the Italy brothers, had spared no effort in decking out the band in clothes that screamed “this ain’t your little sister’s boy band.”    
  
For an hour Finland and Denmark bounded across the stage performing cuts from their soon to be released album as the others provided back-up on guitar, bass, and drums. It was a hot, sweaty, terrifying, and pulse-pounding thrill.    
  
Sweden looked out over the sea of hands waving in the air, bemused to find that the crowd would emit a high pitched shriek every time Denmark wrapped one of his long legs suggestively around the microphone pole or whenever Finland would blow a kiss to the fans pressed against the barrier separating stage from dance floor. He thought the glass in the windows might break from the yelling when Iceland performed a drum solo with Norway half draped over his back. They closed out the show with Denmark doing an incredibly lewd cover of “Baby One More Time,” all growls and grinding hips, much to the lusty glee of the fangirls, before going right into their one big hit.    
  
All of a sudden it seemed as though every voice was turned towards the stage, echoing back the words Denmark and Finland were singing, all the feet in the house swaying in the time to the chords Sweden was playing. It was incredibly surreal and the feeling of exultation and exuberance carried each of them off-stage with smiles that overcame all sense of exhaustion.    
  
Denmark pulled them all into a big huddle, sweat slicked hands sliding off each other’s shoulders and they grinned and laughed.    
  
“That was fucking incredible! Can you believe it?!” Denmark shouted, voice carrying over the still rollicking crowd outside.    
  
Even apathetic Norway leaned into the group hug, knocking his forehead against Denmark’s in agreement.    
  
Finland was radiant with happiness, “Amazing! They were singing our song! Gods, I can’t wait to do it again!”   
  
Sweden squeezed his shoulder, “You were great. The crowd loved you.”   
  
Denmark crowed, “WE were great! The crowd ate it all up, just like I said. And don’t you worry, little Finland, this is just the start. Once that album comes out, we’ll be fucking unstoppable, just like I predicted!”   
  
Iceland pushed back from the increasingly sweaty group hug, stretching his arms over his head, “This time was great. Next time will be great. For now can we just celebrate our greatness with some free booze in the VIP room?”   
  
Denmark laughed, finally releasing them all, “Iceland, I always knew I liked you. Hell yes, let’s get our drink on!”    


An hour later, still wearing what he had privately come to call his “itchy slutty clothes,” Sweden sat at the bar working on his third celebratory cocktail, keeping an eye on the other members of the band. Denmark was happily perched on a table surrounded by a bevy of pretty young things. Norway and Iceland were maintaining their mysterious aloofness by sitting alone in a booth, studiously ignoring the very interested group of guys and girls that were milling around the perimeter. The more they were ignored, the more they salivated at the prospect of being invited to sit down with the sullen twosome. Finland had been tasked with entertaining the Canadians, who had made a fairly hasty exit following the show, claiming that they had seen all enough and would leave the debauchery for the tabloids.   
  
He’d been scanning the crowd for the familiar blond head, when Sweden felt a hand tap his shoulder. He turned and found himself staring into a pair of very attractive ice blue eyes set in a very attractive face attached to a body that should have been illegal. Sweden swallowed. The very pretty face also had a set of near perfect lips that seemed to be speaking to him. He snapped out of his stupor just in time to catch, “I am a big fan of yours. Can I buy you a drink?”   
  
Wonderful. The Adonis also had a Finnish accent. Sweden forced a reply, “A big fan of mine?”  
  
The Adonis smiled and leaned in, faux whispering, “Of course. You’re Sweden, right?”  
  
Sweden nodded, unable to lean away. His new friend pressed in a little closer, tone conspiratorial, “Well, I’m Finnish. Maybe you haven’t heard but Finland always did have a very good relationship with Sweden. I want to continue those good relations.”  
  
Sweden spilled a little of his drink, mumbling, “I might have heard that somewhere.”  
  
The stranger smirked, handing him a napkin, “Also, you are really hot.”  
  
Sweden spilled again.  
  
He flushed under the scrutiny of the smoldering gaze as the man asked again if he could buy him a drink. Sweden was about to reply when he was distracted by a commotion a few feet away.   
  
Sweden’s eyes widened as his companion whistled at the sight of Denmark trying to make his way out of the VIP section with three girls tucked under his arms while being blocked by an apparently not amused Finland.  
  
Sweden thought Finland looked cute with his hands on his hips, shouting, “What the hell, Denmark?! You can’t take all those girls with you! That kind of shit is going to land us on the front page of the gossip rags!”  
  
Denmark scoffed and continued to push forward, “We’re fucking pop stars now! This is how we roll!”   
  
When it looked like Finland was going to continue lecturing, Denmark ushered the ladies out before turning back to Finland, smirking and gesturing in Sweden’s direction, “Besides, in the immortal words of our boy band overlords, ‘Just worry about yours, because I’mma get mine!*”  
  
Almost immediately, Sweden found himself pinned under Finland’s furious gaze. His new friend took a step back for some reason as a determined Finland marched towards the bar. Sweden thought he looked incredibly good as the crowd parted for him.   
  
Coming up so close to him that Sweden could smell the last traces of Finland’s cologne under the layers of sweat and booze, Finland smiled sweetly, whispering in his ear that Norway and Iceland wanted to talk to him. Nodding dumbly and sliding off his stool, Sweden missed the poisonous glare that Finland gave to the Adonis.   
  
Squeezing through the still lingering groupies, Sweden slid into the booth to Norway and Iceland’s visible surprise.  
  
“Finland said you wanted to see me?” Sweden murmured, still flushed from his recent encounter of the Finnish kind.   
  
Iceland just looked confused while Norway craned his neck and took stock of the situation at the bar, where the Adonis was throwing up his hands and backing away slowly.   
  
Norway chuckled, “You do realize that Finland just completely cockblocked you, right?”  
  
Sweden sat up, hurriedly looking over to where Finland now sat alone, satisfied smile on his face. There was no sign of his handsome admirer.   
  
He slumped back down, mind racing.   
  
Being a pop star was turning out to be very interesting.   
  
Sweden had looked for Finland following that little incident, but it seemed as though the co-lead singer of The Nordic Five had disappeared into the ether. Much to Sweden’s chagrin, he was distant and a little cold the next morning, preferring to chat exclusively with Norway and Iceland, who were holding court over their laptop, perusing the gossip sites. True to Finland’s dire premonition, the sites were splashed with pictures of Denmark stumbling out of the club with his harem, with headlines colorfully proclaiming, “Nordic Five Singer Takes Three on His Perpetual Holiday!” and “New Band on the Scene Takes Rock Star Lifestyle to Heart!”   
  
Sweden had turned off the ringer on his cell phone in an attempt to ignore the flood of texts and calls from his irritated bosses. He thanked the pop star gods that Denmark’s behavior was so outlandish he was practically guaranteed to never be the lead story.  
  
Norway was busy gesturing angrily at a picture of him draped on Iceland’s back during the previous performance, reading out the breathless caption, “Iceland’s mystery captivates us all! Even the always-emo Norway! Could romance be brewing?”  
  
“Absolute bullshit.” Norway declared, voice totally flat.  
  
Iceland agreed, nodding solemnly, “True. You’re not emo. You’re just apathetic. The blank stare is completely different.”  
  
“Exactly,” Norway replied, rolling his eyes, “but I would never trust these paparazzi morons to be able to read something so subtle. I can’t believe Denmark wants us to encourage this shit.”  
  
Finland gasped, apparently scandalized, “Denmark wants us to be in the tabs?”  
  
“Of course!” Denmark called out cheerily, having appeared in the hotel lobby, proudly sporting several impressive love bites and still smelling of last night’s vodka and cheap perfume. He sat down next to Sweden, who wrinkled his nose in disgust and shifted his chair downwind. “All publicity is good publicity! Fans love good looking bad boys! If they’re gonna make us rockstars, it’s our duty to oblige!” Denmark proclaimed, punctuating the statement with an exaggerated wink.   
  
Norway closed his laptop, apparently fed up with the speculation on his relationship with Iceland and Denmark’s sexual prowess, spearing Denmark with an icy glare, “Of course, the free booze and easy sex hold no personal allure for you, right?”  
  
Denmark smirked, buttering a piece of toast, “Of course not, Norway. I’m just taking one for the team by playing the role of partying playboy. Just like you and Iceland being so generous as to act the parts of aloof assholes.”  
  
Iceland gave Denmark a single finger salute in response. Finland turned towards Denmark, asking an innocent question that was to open a very un-innocent can of worms, “What about me and Sweden? How do we help the band get publicity?”  
  
Sweden started choking on his coffee, shaking his head vigorously, wanting to speak up and firmly declare that he had absolutely no desire to see his face in the papers, that as far as he was concerned, no publicity was the best publicity, but was unable to swallow quickly enough to beat Denmark to the punch.  
  
For his part, Denmark was smiling like the cat who ate the canary, giving Sweden a mischievous look that rarely, if ever, boded well for his sanity.   
  
“Don’t you worry about that, Finland. I am sure I’ll think of something just perfect. I promise it will be very entertaining for all of us.” Denmark said smoothly, all while continuing to smirk at Sweden, who was further disconcerted when he realized that Norway and Iceland were sporting similar evil grins.   
  
 _Great_ , Sweden thought, already mentally composing an apology letter to the Prime Minister for whatever trouble Denmark was about to get him into.   
  
Denmark’s nefarious intentions became crystal clear to Sweden when he was in the middle of playing a rather complicated series of chords during a performance in Helsinki of their second hit single, “Adoration Rocks.” Up until that moment, he’d been too busy concentrating on not fucking up to notice the group of very VERY good looking guys pressed up against the front of the stage, all wearing tight, cut-off shirts painted in the colors of the Swedish flag. His fingers almost skipped off the bass as his mind struggled to process the following facts:  _I have a fan club. A fan club of super hot guys._  
  
As the song finished, this little cadre of handsome gentlemen started hollering his name wildly, clapping and definitely making their presence known. Too busy feeling fortunate that the glaring stage lights were hiding his blush, Sweden failed to notice the angry narrowing of Finland’s eyes as he awkwardly waved back at his sexy groupies. Much to his later regret, he also failed to notice Denmark whispering something into Finland’s ear before they revved up their next song, “Guilt Will Get You Nowhere,” which was one of Finland’s numbers.  
  
Sweden was standing back, playing his part of the song, trying not to look too much at the tight, writhing bodies below him when he turned to find Finland pressed up suggestively against him, singing. This action caused a sudden explosion of female shrieking and screaming, which only seemed to encourage Finland’s forceful flirtation further.   
  
Sweden felt his face being turned towards the side, jaw clasped in Finland’s free hand, as Finland almost purred the next lyrics into the microphone, “I’ll take you home tonight / Even if its wrong / Even if its right / ‘cuz baby, just like love, guilt will get you nowhere.”   
  
He punctuated this little performance with the showy move of running his tongue down Sweden’s neck, before flouncing off to the middle of the stage to finish the song with Denmark.   
  
All thoughts of his fanclub now gone, Sweden struggled to maintain his composure, desperately trying to figure out if that was an invitation, showmanship, or if Finland had been momentarily possessed by some pop star demon. It was all deeply confusing. And arousing.   
  
Much to his frustration, Finland disappeared immediately following the end of the show, leaving Sweden to endure the knowing smirks of his irritating band mates and to wallow in his ignorance of what the hell had just happened out there.   
  
The next morning as Sweden sat staring in horror at the headline of the entertainment section of the Swedish newspaper, it all made sense, particularly Denmark’s obnoxious self-satisfied smirk.   
  
Over a particularly well timed picture of Finland dragging his tongue up Sweden’s throat sat this screaming headline:  
  
 **New Nordic Five Drama! Sweden and Finland: Are they or aren’t they?! Read all about their clandestine romance on pg.5!!**  
  
Sweden put his head in his hands and rued the day he ever said yes to Denmark. 


	5. Chapter 5

As the date for the release of The Nordic Five’s debut album drew near, a disturbing pattern was becoming apparent to a Sweden who was drawing ever closer to his breaking point. The five Scandinavians were traveling extensively, playing to sold out crowds of intoxicated summer revelers in clubs and concert venues across Northern Europe, though the crowds were never as large or as enthusiastic as those in their five home countries.    
  
Although each of the members of the band had their own devoted fan following, Sweden had yet to reconcile himself to being the object of lustful adoration for a growing contingency of criminally good looking young guys who weren’t shy in their praise nor subtle about their intentions. Every time Sweden’s devotees made their presence known at a show or lingered outside the stage door, he found himself on the receiving end of Finland’s suggestive touching, flirting, grinding, and occasional outright groping as they performed.    
  
Under the bright lights and the disco ball, Finland acted like a possessive lover, which would have been very very gratifying for Sweden, but much to his chagrin and increasing emotional and sexual frustration, as soon as the proverbial curtain came down, Finland acted like nothing untoward had happened. The one time Sweden had dared to broach the subject, Finland pretended he had no idea what he was talking about and claimed that perhaps Sweden had been reading too many gossip websites.   
  
Said gossip rags and tabloids were beside themselves trying to discern whether or not Finland and Sweden were doing the horizontal tango off the stage. The level of interest had gotten so high that even Denmark’s latest booze and babes stunt hadn’t managed to dislodge the Sweden/Finland speculation from the front page. After several weeks of breathless speculation, one intrepid reporter had the brilliant idea to start digging into the backgrounds of The Nordic Five in search of clues to unlock the mysteries of their hearts and loins.    
  
This had prompted a scalding email from Sweden’s boss, stating that he had to fix this situation NOW or be forced to quit the band and fade back into his more or less immortal obscurity. With each day that his face was splashed across the supermarket aisle rags, Sweden was hounded by increasingly irate text messages demanding that he get Finland to stop encouraging the speculation and immediately get the fervent fan focus shifted to something or someone else.    
  
Swallowing his pride, Sweden took the demands of his overlords to Denmark, Norway, and Iceland, looking to his fellow boy-banders for assistance. Finding his fame and fortune under threat, Denmark agreed to talk to Finland about cutting out the “Sweden is my bitch” antics during their performances. Sweden put him in a headlock until the lead singer laughingly agreed to use slightly different phrasing when he broached the subject.    
  
As Denmark left, Sweden turned to Norway and Iceland, already weary, “How do I get the tabloids to leave me and Finland alone?”   
  
At this, Iceland looked pointedly at Norway, who let out a very put upon sigh, glaring at Sweden, “Fine. I’ll fix this for you. But please remember this moment at the next World Conference when I want your support.”   
  
Confused, but willing to go along with anything at this point, Sweden nodded.   
  
“Iceland. Give me the phone and the number to that idiotic Top 40 radio station,” Norway commanded.    
  
Iceland obliged and then watched Norway pace lazily up and down their hotel room with no shortage of anticipatory amusement.    
  
“Yes, hello, this is Norway from The Nordic Five. I have something I need to set straight. Put me on the air immediately….What? Prove that I am Norway? You are very annoying, but very well.”   
  
Sighing once again, Norway turned to Sweden, “You. Make yourself useful and take a picture of me on the phone with this moron and send it to the station.”    
  
Sweden scrambled to do as he was told, quickly snapping and emailing a picture of a more irate than usual Norway. After a beat, Norway resumed his conversation, “Satisfied? Oh, well I do live to serve your simple needs. Now put me on the air.”    
  
Iceland gestured animatedly at Norway, hissing, “Put it on speakerphone! We want to hear!”    
  
Norway rolled his eyes, but obliged, setting the phone down on the table just as the DJ started speaking, “If you’re a fan of The Nordic Five, be glad you have your radio turned to Hot 101.7 because I’ve got an exclusive for all our listeners! I’ve got Norway, the mysterious guitarist from The Nordic Five on the line with some burning news for all the fans out there! So, Norway, welcome to Hot 101.7!”   
  
“Hello,” Norway said without inflection, leaving the DJ rushing to fill the dead air.   
  
“Haha, a man of few words, I see! What did you want to share with the world today, Norway?”   
  
Norway took a deep breath, letting the anticipation build. Even Sweden was a little anxious, wondering what Norway would reveal.    
  
“I want to set the record straight about a big misconception.”   
  
The DJ chuckled, “Well, the floor’s yours, Norway, we’re all ears!”   
  
“I am not emo. Please stop characterizing me as such.” Norway stated blankly.    
  
There were several seconds of absolutely silence on the radio.    
  
The DJ coughed, “I see. Well, everyone, let it be known that Norway from The Nordic Five is not emo.”    
  
Sweden felt his heart sink. Like that little revelation was going to do anything to save him. He buried his face in his hands, only looking up to see Iceland standing directly in front of Norway, glaring with such intensity that Sweden wondered that Norway didn’t melt. Iceland was pointing at the phone emphatically. Norway threw up his hands in surrender, mouthing “fine.”   
  
He turned back to the waiting phone, “Oh, yes. One more thing.”   
  
“Go ahead,” The DJ said, voice now far less enthusiastic.   
  
“Iceland and I are brothers. Not lovers. Really, the members of the media must be beyond stupid to get that wrong. And to call me emo.”   
  
The DJ gasped audibly, repeating the shocking revelation with much more gusto for his listeners, “You heard it here first, folks! The surprising and intriguing revelation that Iceland and Norway are brothers! The veil of mystery has been lifted! It’s like a reverse White Stripes! Call me at 555-123-5678 and let me know what you think about this craziness!”   
  
Norway had reached the limits of his patience, “Don’t forget the first thing. That’s far more important.”   
  
He hung up, tossing the phone at Iceland with disgust and giving Sweden a dirty look, “There. That little scrap of information should keep the vultures away from you and Finland for awhile.”   
  
Sweden let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, “Thanks. I owe you one.”   
  
Iceland patted him on the shoulder, “You owe us like ten. But listen, do us all a favor and stay away from those groupies of yours. If you can manage that, we can manage Finland.”   
  
“What’s wrong with my fans?” Sweden asked, feeling a little defensive on their behalf.   
  
Iceland whacked him over the head with a pillow, “Seriously? If you aren’t smart enough to figure it out, I’m not giving you a clue.”   
  
Annoyed, Norway echoed Iceland, “Are you as stupid as the tabloid reporters? Just stay away from those guys, ok?”   
  
Cornered and indebted, Sweden agreed.    
  
For several days after, things went back to normal. (Or as normal as could be expected for a group of five nations running around performing as the hottest new band in Europe.) Much to Sweden’s relief, the newspapers went wild with the brothers’ story and whatever Denmark said to Finland seemed to have worked as there were no further instances of questionable stage behavior as they traveled through Copenhagen and Oslo.    
  
For his part, Sweden stuck to his promise and dutifully avoided any direct contact with his fans, refusing to wave or acknowledge their wild cries for attention during the concerts and sneaking out back entrances after wards. He felt like a bit of a bastard for being as aloof as Norway and Iceland, but these feelings of guilt were deeply offset by the sudden lack of emails and texts from his boss. After a week of relative peace and quiet, Sweden gave himself permission to feel more at ease and to start looking forward to the band’s triumphant return to Stockholm for their biggest show to date.    
  
The concert was their last before the release of their album and tickets had been sold out for days. The Prime Minister had promised to attend with his three children and there were even rumors that Princess Victoria might be in the audience. It was, Sweden thought, imperative that everything go right.   
  
Naturally, this meant that on the morning of the big concert, everything started to go very wrong. Sweden was jolted from sleep by a loud pounding on his door only to be confronted by a visibly pissed off Iceland and a frighteningly annoyed Norway. As he let them into his room, Iceland angrily shoved a wrinkled newspaper at his chest.   
  
“We gave you one simple instruction! Stay away from the groupies! What the hell is this!?” Iceland shouted arms crossed over his chest.    
  
Sliding his glasses on to his nose, Sweden felt all the color drain from his face when he saw the picture on the front page. It was a shot from yesterday of him standing in front of the entrance to the concert hall, dressed plainly for rehearsal, in what looked like a very compromising position with a fan. To be more accurate, with the Adonis who had first approached him weeks ago. The Adonis was leaning close and the photographer had been lucky enough to frame that shot so that it looked as though the two were about to kiss. The accompanying headline screamed, “Scandal: Sweden Steps Out With Sexy Fan!”   
  
Sweden dropped the paper in disgust, already dreading the almost certain shit storm that was to follow, “He ambushed me yesterday! I had no idea that anyone else but us knew about our rehearsal times. I was trying to get inside and away from him when. This is bad, isn’t it?”    
  
Norway nodded, “You’re definitely back on the front page now.”   
  
Iceland gave an aggrieved sigh, “You better hope Finland doesn’t see this or tonight’s show is going to get very interesting.”   
  
“Shit,” Sweden said.   
  
“Indeed,” Norway agreed. 


	6. Chapter 6

Sweden walked on eggshells for the rest of the day, keeping his Blackberry tucked away in a drawer in his room, avoiding all contact with the powers that be. When he finally forced himself to face Finland at dinner, only hours before their show, Sweden was happily surprised to find that Finland was as pleasant and removed as ever, seemingly unfazed by Sweden’s scandalous rebirth as gossip rag headliner.    
  
That night the crowds were raucous and excited, a sea of Swedish and Scandinavian admirers, ready to welcome their new favorite native sons back home. The Nordic Five fed off of the energy, performing their songs with new vigor and charge, creating an electric and intoxicating atmosphere in the concert hall. As they neared the end of their set, Sweden started to thank whatever deity was responsible for letting him make it through the concert unscathed. Finland had stayed locked into his role of adorable singer, flirting only with the people dancing below, keeping his hands to himself even when Sweden’s fanboys had started an embarrassingly deafening chant of his name.    
  
And then Denmark looked at him, his expression a horrifying mixture of mischief and sympathy, before he turned back to the crowd, microphone in hand. Sweden’s blood pressure immediately skyrocketed.    
  
“Hello, Stockholm!!” He paused, waiting for the excited cheering to level off, before continuing, “You guys have been awesome! We, The Nordic Five, love being here because if anyone knows good pop music, it’s the Swedes!”   
  
Sweden’s heart started to pound as the crowd continued to get louder. _What was Denmark plotting?_   
  
Denmark laughed, “Because you are all so fabulous, and because we’re here in Stockholm, we’ve got a special tribute song in honor of the greatness Swedish pop! Do you want to hear it?” He egged on the excitement to a fever pitch.   
  
“Your wish is my command. Without further ado, here’s Finland, performing a song he picked out special for tonight’s performance!”   
  
As Finland took center stage and the chords of a very familiar song started to stream from the speakers, Sweden prayed that lightening would strike him dead where he stood. Finland, it seemed, was about to play dirty.    
  
The fans surged and swelled below the stage in excitement, shrieking as they recognized the song Finland was singing to them. Sweden’s pulse raced and sweat started beading on his forehead as he watched Finland enchant the audience with his exuberant performance, holding out the mic and encouraging the audience to sing along.   
  
And then Finland turned to face him, not moving one step from his spotlight at the center of stage, pinning him in place with only the intensity of his blue eyed gaze as he sang words Sweden had long known by heart,    
  
“Don’t go wasting your emotion / Lay all your love on me / Don’t go sharing your devotion / Lay all your love on me.”*   
  
Finland’s eyes smoldered as he repeated the lines again and again as if telegraphing the words straight to Sweden’s heart.    
  
Sweden had to restrain himself from walking across the stage and laying all his love on Finland right then and there, forcing his eyes to look away and out into the crowd as the song finished to thundering applause and screams of joy.    
  
As the lights dimmed and the band made their exit, Sweden clenched his fists, determined not to let Finland make his usual escape after that little stunt. There was only so much a man could take and Sweden had taken all that he could. He chased Finland down the hallway, ignoring shouts from Denmark to come back, that he had news they all had to hear. Everything else could wait.    
  
He found Finland in the Green Room, using his larger frame to corner him against the ragged couch. Finland looked like a nervous rabbit, eyes gone very wide in his still flushed face, as he squirmed, unwilling to meet Sweden’s eyes.    
  
With his arms on either side of Finland’s shoulders, Sweden leaned down to meet Finland’s gaze, softly demanding, “What the hell is going on here, Finland?”   
  
Finland’s eyes skittered away, his breath coming in quickly, as he stumbled over his words, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”   
  
Sweden laughed derisively, before murmuring, “Looking at me while you sing ABBA, sing that song. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”   
  
Finland refused to answer, continuing to stare determinedly at the wall. Sweden sighed, whispering in his ear, “Lived with you for all those centuries. Should never have forgotten that you look sweet but know how to play dirty.”   
  
There was a sharp intake of breath before Finland raised his head, defiant and anything but innocent. Sweden nearly lost it when he read the lust and jealousy in Finland’s eyes.    
  
“So what are you going to do about it?” Finland taunted, his breath hot against Sweden’s cheek.    
  
Swallowing and steeling his nerves, Sweden started to move forward, watching as Finland’s eyes fluttered closed. He was so close, only centimeters away from Finland’s lips. This was finally going to happen. He let his own eyes shut, intent on closing the last tiny gap between them.   
  
Then the door flew open, banging loudly against the wall, as Denmark, Iceland, and Norway came barreling into the room. The sudden interruption shocked Sweden into backing away as Finland startled and immediately took the opportunity to duck out from under Sweden’s arms, rushing over to the relative safety of Denmark’s side.    
  
Moment totally broken and Finland totally in retreat, Sweden comforted himself with visions of Denmark’s painful death at his hands.   
  
Denmark smiled, unrepentant even in the face of Sweden’s death glare, gleefully declaring, “I have something to tell everyone! Something more awesome than anything else that’s happened so far! Something that’s gonna make us so hot, the rest of Europe won’t know what to do with themselves. Wanna guess what it is?” 


	7. Chapter 7

Even though Denmark looked fit to burst with excitement over whatever news he had, Sweden’s heart was still racing from his near kiss with Finland, who was once again refusing to meet his eyes. It would seem that there would be no resolution to their awkward tango tonight. Wearily, Sweden sat down on the couch, typically stoic expression almost tipping into a pout.    
  
Iceland and Norway lounged on either side of Sweden, resting on the couch arms, Norway pointedly refusing to acknowledge Denmark, who was ever more resembling an overjoyed puppy. Finland remained tucked behind Denmark, as if concerned that should he take one more step towards the glowering Swede, he would once again find himself teetering on the edge of making a confession he wasn’t at all prepared to make.    
  
When Denmark began to twitch, smile threatening to split his face in two, Iceland finally took pity on him, waving an arm and sighing, “Go on, tell us your big news before you wet the floor.”   
  
Denmark took a deep breath, straightening to his not unimpressive full height, chest puffing out slightly, “OK! Prepare yourselves, because you are not even ready for this!”   
  
Norway rolled his eyes, “Spit it out.”   
  
Their leader clapped his hands together, eyes sparkling, “We, The Nordic Five, have been invited to be the performing band on the premier of X-Factor next week! Can you even believe it?!”   
  
While there were a few murmurs of interest in the room, Denmark’s face fell almost comically at the total lack of explosive excitement displayed by his fellow Nordics.   
  
“Come on guys! This is huge! Think of the publicity!”   
  
Finland cleared his throat, proceeding delicately, “Of course this is a great opportunity, Denmark…but we’ve played lots of TV shows in the past few weeks. What makes this one different?”   
  
Denmark turned towards him, voiced filled with incredulity, “Are you serious?! One third of England watches that show! Once we perform, we’ll practically own that country!”   
  
Norway sat up abruptly, pointing an accusing finger at Denmark, “One thousand years later and you still have a hard-on for invading England. Really, Denmark, really?”   
  
Denmark didn’t even have the good sense to look ashamed, smirking at Norway, “It’s like you’ve met me or something! C’mon, what can I say? Being the biggest thing in Britain has always been a dream of mine.”    
  
To everyone’s surprise, Norway started to laugh, “Well, I guess it will be less bloody than the last time! From pillaging monasteries to accosting his airwaves! Should we warn England this go around or irritate the fuck out of him by showing up unannounced, conquerors once more.”   
  
Denmark laughed heartily, thumping Norway on the back as they shared a glance that spoke of fond, if violent, memories of days gone by, “That’s the spirit, Norway! Besides, it’s only one step from X-Factor England to X-Factor USA…and if there’s any nation I want to take for my own more than England…”   
  
“It’s America!” The rest of the band chanted in unison, having long ago taken an oath of Nordic boy band solidarity to make American eat his words about no one wanting Euro Trash like them in the good old U.S.A.    
  
“Damn right!” Denmark hooted, clearly delighted. “But first we gotta rock this performance and win over the hearts of all England’s lovely ladies and gentlemen!”   
  
“Any ideas on how to make it special?” Finland chimed in.   
  
Iceland looked at him askance, eyes quickly darting between Finland and Sweden, “What? Your little ditty tonight wasn’t special enough for you, Finland?”   
  
Finland blushed and looked away, “ABBA was special for Sweden.” When he noticed Sweden jolt forward, Finland continued hurriedly, “Sweden the country, not Sweden- Sweden! Oh, you know what I mean.”   
  
Iceland nodded, answering wryly, “Oh yes, we know exactly what you mean. Question is, do you know what you mean?”    
  
Before Finland could get any more flustered and Sweden any more confused, Denmark intervened, “Chill, guys! I’ll think of something incredible and mind blowing for the X-Factor. For now, let’s take the week off before the show to rest up, go home, sign papers, take meetings, blah blah blah, do our other job, keep our bosses from grilling our asses.”   
  
They were all relieved to have a week off, suddenly beset with exhaustion now that the adrenaline of the show and Denmark’s news had settled. Finland made a hasty escape, much to Sweden’s annoyance.    
  
As they left, Iceland and Norway once again admonished Sweden to avoid the groupies at all costs, bidding him farewell. He stood from the couch, tight jeans clinging in places he would have preferred they didn’t, glad that his own home and his much missed bed was only a short distance from the concert hall.   
  
Just as he was about to leave, Denmark called out from the hallway, the tone of his voice so sly, it immediately caused shivers to crawl up Sweden’s spine, “Oh, Sweden! Make sure you check your email this week…I’ll be in touch!”    
  
_Checking email from you was what got me into this mess in the first place!_  Sweden sighed to himself as he ducked out into the dark alley, employing old spy tactics in the hopes of avoiding his overly enthusiastic fans…even if they did seem to net him ABBA serenades…   
  
**From: Kingdom of Denmark  
To: Kingdom of Sweden  
IMPORTANT: Idea for Conquering England via X-Factor **   
  
_Sweden!  
  
Told you I was going to be in touch! Have you been enjoying a few days off? Man, I already miss the road, fangirls are so awesome, right? Or I should say fanboys! And hey, objectively speaking, your fans are totally hot! Guess not everyone flees from your scary face! Haha!   
  
Anyways, I have an amazing idea for next week’s X-Factor performance. You are going to love it, I promise! :)  
  
So, of course we’ll do “Perpetual Holiday,” but I’m thinking we should mock, I mean honor, England’s own storied pop music history by doing a cover of a classic song by one of their greatest bands.   
  
Awesome, right?!   
  
-Denmark _   
  
**From: Kingdom of Sweden  
To: Kingdom of Denmark  
RE: IMPORTANT: Idea for Conquering England via X-Factor **   
  
_Please tell me you aren’t thinking about the Beatles -S_   
  
**From: Kingdom of Denmark  
To: Kingdom of Sweden  
RE: IMPORTANT: Idea for Conquering England via X-Factor **   
  
_Screw you, Sweden! Who do you take me for? You don’t fuck with perfection, even if it belongs to that bastard England!  
  
You better apologize or I won’t tell you who.  
  
-D _   
  
**From: Kingdom of Sweden  
To: Kingdom of Denmark  
RE: IMPORTANT: Idea for Conquering England via X-Factor **   
  
_Fine. Sorry. Just tell me. I have shit to do, my boss has been breathing down my neck since I got back.  
  
-S_   
  
**From: Kingdom of Denmark  
To: Kingdom of Sweden  
RE: IMPORTANT: Idea for Conquering England via X-Factor **   
  
_The Nordic Five will be performing…  
  
Wait for it…(because it’s going to be legendary)…  
  
SPICE GIRLS!!!!  
  
Bwhahahahaha, it’s so perfect! Once upon a time they invaded the world with their awesomely bad pop and now we’re gonna conquer England using his own weapons.  
  
Am I diabolical or what?!  
  
-Denmark, Boy Band Leader Extraordinaire _   
  
**From: Kingdom of Sweden  
To: Kingdom of Denmark  
RE: IMPORTANT: Idea for Conquering England via X-Factor **   
  
_Hell no._   
  
**From: Kingdom of Denmark  
To: Kingdom of Sweden  
RE: IMPORTANT: Idea for Conquering England via X-Factor **   
  
_Why the hell not? Everyone said yes.  
  
Fuck it, I don’t have time to argue with you about this.   
  
Look, you do this for me and I’ll do something for you.   
  
-D_   
  
**From: Kingdom of Sweden  
To: Kingdom of Denmark  
RE: IMPORTANT: Idea for Conquering England via X-Factor **   
  
_What could you possibly do for me? (Besides get me in more trouble, which, thanks, I’ll pass).  
  
-S_   
  
**From: Kingdom of Denmark  
To: Kingdom of Sweden  
RE: IMPORTANT: Idea for Conquering England via X-Factor **   
  
_I’ll help you fix your little Finland problem.  
  
-D _   
  
**From: Kingdom of Sweden  
To: Kingdom of Denmark  
RE: IMPORTANT: Idea for Conquering England via X-Factor **   
  
_How?_   
  
**From: Kingdom of Denmark  
To: Kingdom of Sweden  
RE: IMPORTANT: Idea for Conquering England via X-Factor **   
  
_A good general doesn’t give away their plans to the pawns.  
  
You do this X-Factor thing, no questions asked, and I promise I’ll have Finland on his back (or on your back, whatever works for you, bro!) by the end of the week.   
  
Deal?  
  
-D   
  
Ps—We’re all sick of watching you two moon at each other. Quit hogging the fucking gossip headlines, already!_   
  
**From: Kingdom of Sweden  
To: Kingdom of Denmark  
RE: IMPORTANT: Idea for Conquering England via X-Factor **   
  
_I better not regret this…..  
  
Deal.  
  
See you in London.  
  
-Sweden _   
  
**From: Kingdom of Denmark  
To: Kingdom of Sweden  
IMPORTANT: Idea for Conquering England via X-Factor **   
  
_Can I call you Scary Spice?  
  
<3 Denmark  
_


	8. Chapter 8

Several days later, Sweden touched down in London with headache, clutching the lyrics sheet that Denmark had been kind enough to send to the group before they all departed for English shores.

He wanted them all to sing. 

To sing Spice Girls. And there were stage directions. Embarrassing ones. 

It was almost beyond the pale for Sweden, but he couldn’t walk away from Denmark’s offer to help resolve his Finnish dilemma. While the man was brash and irritating, Sweden couldn’t deny that when Denmark set out to do something, like take over the North Sea or become the #1 band in Europe, he typically succeeded, even if his methods left something to be desired.

And so Sweden resigned himself to belting out lines of late nineties girl pop in front of a British television audience of millions. While there was no doubt in his mind that the performance was a stroke of evil genius, as Denmark had assigned their singing parts for maximum drama, Sweden couldn’t help but cringe as he thought about what he was about to do. 

Seeking peace and quiet before the X-Factor maelstrom, Sweden ducked into his dressing room, hoping to find solitude. Naturally, he found Denmark lounging on the couch as if he owned the place, humming the tune of Sweden’s impending doom.

“Scary Spice! There you are!” Denmark chortled.

Sweden sighed, dumping his bag on the floor, refusing to acknowledge Denmark’s idiotic nickname. 

“Aww, don’t be like that!” Denmark pouted, “Here I am taking time out of my busy schedule of British domination to come and strategize and you’re ignoring me!” 

Against his better judgment, Sweden was intrigued, sitting down next to Denmark on the couch, “Strategize?”

Denmark slung his arm around Sweden’s shoulders, smirking, “On how to go down on, I mean, take down, Finland.”

Sweden pinched Denmark’s side, feeling compelled to defend Finland’s virtue. Denmark yelped and shifted away, before casting a side long glance at Sweden, voice suddenly going serious, “But before I put my plan into action, I gotta know, how serious are you about him?”

Sweden murmured lowly, “Very serious, the most serious.”

Denmark pushed on, “Serious enough to risk getting into deep shit with your bosses? Serious enough to know that this whole thing might backfire?”

Sweden looked alarmed, “What are you planning?”

“Does it really matter, as long as it works? Are you willing to take that risk?’

Perplexed, Sweden asked, “You’re asking me to trust you blindly?”

Denmark scoffed, “Don’t be stupid. I’m asking if you believe that all’s fair in love and war. If you don’t have the stones for that truth, then I can’t help you.”

Sweden closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the couch, giving Denmark’s words serious consideration. For so long he’d tread so lightly around Finland, feeling the chains of their complicated past restraining his every movement. Before the adventures of The Nordic Five, he’d been willing to wait, to play it safe, play by the rules Finland had dictated so long ago. But then there was the band and the boys and the back and forth of Finland’s attention and affection and subsequent evasion. Finland had thrown his own rulebook out the window and Sweden was tired of playing the game without a clue. 

Slowly, he sat up, facing Denmark, “Yes. I believe that.”

Denmark slapped him forcefully on the back, “Attaboy! It’s about time you manned up and remembered the badass conquering nation you once were!”

Sweden scowled, “So, what do you propose?”

“We’ll do exactly what any great warrior would when facing a familiar and daunting opponent: we’re gonna go on the offensive and exploit his weaknesses until he’s backed so far into a corner he can’t help but surrender!” Denmark said, a disturbingly familiar power hungry glint in his eyes.

Sweden winced, feeling momentary pity for Finland and fear for himself. 

Denmark stood up, marching directly in front of Sweden, declaring, “And tonight we’re firing a shot across his bow. Follow the directions I gave you on the lyric sheet exactly, no deviations, and you’ll be back in the driver’s seat.” 

“Do I have to?” 

Denmark snapped his fingers in Sweden’s face, demeanor every bit the angry general, “Didn’t you just tell me you were serious? This is the easy part, so you better find your inner pop princess, sweetheart, or resign yourself to being cockteased on a regular basis.” 

Flushing with embarrassment and anger, Sweden growled, “Fine. Fine. I’ll do it. Now get the hell out so I can have some last moments with my dignity.” 

Denmark smiled, ruffling Sweden’s hair before darting out of retaliatory striking range, “That’s more like it! Okeedokee, I’ll leave you to it! See you on stage, Scary Spice!” 

Finally, blessedly, alone, Sweden lay down on the couch, closing his eyes and reciting an endless mantra of “What would ABBA do? What would ABBA do? What would ABBA do?” 

The show must go on. 

As The Nordic Five waited for the producer to give them the sign to start making their way onto the X-Factor stage, Sweden’s nerves started to hum. Even Denmark seemed anxious as he defied the explicit instructions to stay out of view by craning his neck around the set. 

Denmark’s surprised shriek shocked the group out of silence and gained them a sharp look from a harried man in a headset. He turned to the group, a delighted grin painting his handsome face. 

“England’s here! England’s in the audience, about to watch his musical demise!” He sighed happily, “Okay, who’s responsible for this amazing act of awesome?”

Iceland, Finland, and Sweden shook their heads while Norway examined his nails nonchalantly. 

Denmark tackled Norway into a hug before pulling back and saying with all seriousness, “I love you. You are the best friend EVER.”

Norway flushed, pushing Denmark off, “Obviously. Moron.” 

And then the producer was rushing them onstage as the X-Factor audience went wild and England’s face went sour, prodigious eyebrows expressing his displeasure as Denmark winked obscenely in his direction. 

Just as they were taking their places, Denmark breezed by Sweden, casually tossing out, “By the way, I didn’t tell Finland about the changes to the song, so good luck!”

Sweden didn’t even have time to consider the implications of that little revelation as they immediately started rollicking through their big hit, “Perpetual Holiday,” the crowd so enthused that even Cheryl Cole started bouncing in her seat. 

As the last chords faded, Sweden’s heart started to race. Ever the showman, Denmark struck an exaggerated pose in the middle of the stage, gesturing for the audience to quiet, “Thank you, X-Factor! It’s so great to be in England and you’ve all been so warm and welcoming, it feels like home. In fact, we love England so much, we wanted to do something special and make a little piece of British pop our own.”

England looked ready to spit nails, which only egged Denmark on, “And in crazy twist, the whole band will be singing this one, so I hope you enjoy and continue to make The Nordic Five your rulers…..of pop!” 

The lights dimmed momentarily, as did Sweden’s will to live. Then it began.

Denmark laughed, bounding to the middle of the stage as Finland did the same, both of them bouncing and shifting the mic between them as Denmark sang, 

“Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want!”

And Finland returned, smiling brilliantly, “So tell me what you want, what you really really want!”

And then Denmark again, “I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want!”

“So tell me what you want, what you really really want” Finland sang while leaning forward into Denmark’s space. 

Denmark pushed him off, jogging across the stage to Norway, Iceland and Sweden, chanting, “ I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna zigazig ha.”

If the crowd was going crazy at that point, when it became clear that the others were about to join in the madness, the studio practically exploded with glee. 

Sweden swallowed, summoning all his courage, looking directly at Finland as he opened his mouth and sang, “If you want my future forget our past/ If you wanna get with me better make it fast!”

Finland looked shocked, even as Norway rolled his eyes and flatly sang out, “Now don’t go wasting his precious time” and Iceland finished out the verse with his line, “Get your act together, you could be just fine!”

Finland’s astonished expression persisted through the chorus that they sang in unison, along with an enthusiastic audience, “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends! Make it last forever, friendship never ends!”

Sweden was worried that Finland was going to fall over as be obeyed Denmark’s explicit instructions, moving closer to Finland and maintaining eye contact as he finished his one-time only solo performance, “What do you think about that / Now you know how I feel / say you can’t handle my love are you for real?”

Finland actually stumbled over the next part of the chorus, as he looked at Sweden like he was a man he hadn’t seen in many lifetimes. Sweden found the whole experience simultaneously mortifying and gratifying.

And then the scales tipped firmly on the side of mortifying as Denmark finished out the damned song with his own version of the (real) Scary Spice rap: 

“So here's a story from A to Z, you wanna get with me you gotta listen carefully,   
We got N in the place who’s got an emo face,   
we got F like IC who likes it crazy,   
Sve doesn't come for free, he’s a real lady,   
and as for me, ahhh, you'll see,   
Slam your body down and wind it all around   
Slam your body down and wind it all around.” 

 

The crowd went even more insane and England actually got up and walked out in disgust as the song wound down and The Nordic Five took their bows. As they made their way offstage, Denmark snagged Sweden by the elbow, propelling him forward and swiftly away from a Finland who was marching towards them determinedly.

“What the hell was that?” Sweden exclaimed, trying to free himself to no avail.

“That, my friend, was our opening gambit. And it worked like a charm, but now we gotta move on to step two, and quick, before Finland can escape from Norway and Iceland!”

Sweden was so taken aback he forgot to struggle, “They’re helping, too?”

“Duh! We’re all in this band together, right? We want you to be happy and all that good stuff!”

Sweden was touched by this unexpected show of Nordic solidarity. Until Denmark promptly careened them both out of the main backstage door, directly into an overly excited group of fans, many of whom were Sweden’s fanboys. 

When he stilled, feeling like a deer in the headlines, Denmark squeezed his arm, hissing in his ear, “Keep going and smile! Look like you love it! Fuck, just pretend to be me for the next few hours.”

Too confused to do anything else, Sweden obeyed, smiling and waving to his now dying of happiness fans as Denmark shoved him into the waiting limo. As the door shut and the car sped off, Denmark settled back into the opposite seat, tossing a bottle of vodka at Sweden.

He smirked,“Drink up, buddy. We’re going clubbing! And don’t argue, this is all part of my grand plan!”

Sweden unscrewed the cap, offered up a quick prayer, and downed a shot. 

He was feeling loose and buzzed, memories of the Spice Girls fading as they pulled up to a bustling club, charmingly named Heaven. Denmark and Sweden spilled out of the limo, gaining the attention of the line of smashingly dressed young men waiting to get inside. As they made their way to the VIP entrance, they were bombarded with shouts of:

“Oh my god! That’s Sweden! I have to text everyone I know. Activate the gay grapevine!”

“Sweden! Sweden! Come over here and I’ll give you a proper English welcome!” 

Sweden blushed as cameras flashed in his eyes, stumbling after Denmark, who was eating up the attention. They made their way up a set of stairs to a less populated second floor platform.

Denmark stood regally at the railing, as if surveying his kingdom. Shouting over the thumping based, he turned to Sweden, “Welcome to G-A-Y! This is the place to be. Lady GaGa was here and now so are we! Amazing!”

Momentarily, Sweden was breathless, watching the sea of gorgeous men watching him as they danced below. It was almost as intoxicating as the drink that was shoved into his hand by a very friendly server. 

As the song ended, the voice of the DJ echoed through the club, “Boys and boys! Tonight we’ve got some very special, and very sexy guests---Denmark and Sweden from The Nordic Five! If you’re all feeling the groove, give some attention and some G-A-Y love to this video of their fabulous tribute to another of Club Heaven’s favorites! Hot off the X-Factor, here’s The Nordic Five performing “Wannabe!” 

Sweden buried his head in his hands. He was never going to escape from the curse of the Spice. Denmark nudged him, forcing him to look up at the approaching cadre of shirtless men in sinfully tight leather pants. Denmark smiled wickedly, “Photo Op time! Do yourself a favor and enjoy this!”

Sweden chugged the rest of his cocktail, letting the burn settle in his stomach as he forced himself to stay put against the railing, looking out at the mass of admirers below, singing and shimmying to “Wannabe.” The hoard of hotness was upon him, surrounding him on all sides, posing for pictures, and putting hands in places that had Sweden squirming uncomfortably as Denmark gave him a thumbs up in the corner. 

Finally, the song ended and the men dispersed. Denmark took pity on Sweden, making apologies to the club owner and trundling them back into the limo.

Denmark laughed, slumped against Sweden’s shoulder, “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

Sweden considered, the events of the night swimming in a sea of vodka, “No. Suppose not,” and promptly fell asleep. 

The next morning he woke up face down on the bed with a dry mouth and a raging hang-over. As he rolled over groaning, Sweden tried to piece together the night’s events. 

All in all, he supposed it wasn’t too bad, though he was sure he would get an earful from his boss about being drunk in public. He wondered what Denmark had hoped to get out their little excursion. Cradling his head in one hand, he went to the door of his room, picking up the newspaper that had been shoved under the crack. 

And there it was. Proof of Denmark’s plotting in bold and inescapable print: 

Sweden Takes on the Town with Naughty Tribute to the Spice Girls! 

Of course, there was also damning photographic evidence that also explained why those pants had looked so funny the night before. There was Sweden, back turned to the camera, surrounded by men in assless chaps grinning at the camera, their hands on his back and lower. The caption informed him that Heaven had planned it as a special shout-out to the classic Spice Girls movie. 

Even as he considered committing ritual suicide, his phone beeped. 

From: Denmark  
Booze and babes! Look who’s a legit rock star this morning! Haha.

Joking aside, the plan worked. Finland’s about to lose his mind.

And before you run off to make things better: don’t you dare. This is exactly what needs to happen, trust me. 

Act like nothing’s happened. Sleep off that hangover, pack your shit, go home, and await further instructions from yours truly. 

Frame that pic! Classic.

Sweden turned off the phone and went back to bed in the hopes that his sanity would return when he woke. 

Trapped inside his Stockholm apartment in an attempt to avoid the swarms of paparazzi camped out side his door, Sweden had little else to do but reject calls from his increasingly irate bosses and read his own press. Someone was feeding the papers and gossip sites with incriminating photos of that night in London: Sweden smiling and waving at fans, Sweden admiring the attractive club-goers, more horrifying shots of Sweden and men in assless chaps, and terrifyingly embarrassing cell phone video clips of the fans in line at G-A-Y making their generous offers of sexual gratification.

Denmark seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much.

Beyond that, Iceland, Norway and Denmark had uniformly broken their silence on discussing the lives of other members of the band, to the delight of an overly eager media. Much to Sweden’s chagrin, it seemed that he was the topic of the hour, as every bolded, breathless, quote revolved around him and his apparently deeply interesting love life. His sense of unease grew with each quote that he read, wondering exactly what plot Denmark had afoot:

“Not that it’s any of your feeble minded business or that I particularly care to fuel your pathetic little interests, but, yes, I think Sweden is unattached.” – Norway

“No comment.” - Finland

“Even though his face is totally scary, Sweden can be kind of awesome. Not as awesome as me, of course, but have you seen his fan club? Dudes aren’t really my thing, but if I were him (and he should wish that I were!), I would definitely be hitting all of that!” – Denmark

“No comment.” – Finland

“Not sure if Sweden’s the type for the quick and dirty, but you never know, this lifestyle can change you.” – Iceland

“No comment. Ask me again and I can’t be held responsible for my actions.” -Finland 

Sweden didn’t know how to react to what Norway, Denmark and Iceland had to say about him, wondering exactly how much their dear leader had crafted their answers. He did know that each time he read Finland’s responses he wanted to rush across the sea that separated them to reassure him that his heart would never belong to anyone else, no matter how good looking and easy.

Each time he felt his resolve crumbling, Denmark chimed in with a text or email telling him in no uncertain terms to stick to his guns, that the endgame was in sight. As in years past, Sweden was glad that the supposed conclusion was on the horizon as he was chafing under Denmark’s obnoxious and overly intrusive rule.

The day before he was to depart for their gig in Helsinki, Denmark sent an email with a interview request from one of the web’s most highly trafficked music sites:

From: Kingdom of Denmark  
To: Kingdom of Sweden  
RE: DO THIS. (Because I said so). 

Sweden-

Staying strong in Stockholm? You better be—the plan is working like a charm.

Attached is a set of questions for interview. Because I am a benevolent master, you don’t even have to answer the questions in person (I am aware of your speaking aversion). Just email your answers back to the site.

-Denmark

Ps—Come to Helsinki early. I’ll tell you about our final offensive. 

Glowering, Sweden cracked his knuckles, taking some pleasure in imagining how great it was going to be to shake off Denmark’s shackles. If the arrogant bastard thought he could continue to refer to himself as Sweden’s “benevolent master” once this nonsense was over, well, he was about to remind him exactly how the Kalmar Union came apart.

The next day, as he packed his bag for Helsinki, Sweden distractedly scrolled through the website featuring his interview, ignoring all of the irritating speculation and rumor mongering that the editor had seen fit to throw in with his answers, stopping only when his eyes traced over the word “Finland.” It would seem that the site had continued the recent trend of seeking expert input from the rest of The Nordic Five in response to anything Sweden did.

His eyes widened and his heart raced as he read Finland’s reaction to one of his answers:

"How does being a famous pop-star affect your love life?"

Sweden: Being so visible all the time means that very few people know who you truly are. The needs of the band come before your own personal thoughts and feelings, so it often happens that all your actions and choices get perceived through a certain filter. It’s challenging to find someone who would be able to understand that duality—someone who could love both the persona and the person, which can make for a lonely existence, I guess. I want to be with the person who truly understands that.

"Finland, there’s been lots of speculation about your relationship off-stage with Sweden! Care to finally give our readers a reaction?”

Finland: I want Sweden to be happy. With whoever makes him happy. I’ve got nothing else to say about this. Please stop asking. 

For several moments, Sweden sat staring at the monitor, wondering for the umpteenth time in his long life how Finland could so radically misinterpret what he was trying to communicate. He’d been thinking only of Finland when had answered and now it appeared that Finland thought himself abandoned. 

Shaken, he picked up his phone, quickly tapping out a text message:

Denmark---I can’t do this any more. This ends tomorrow, one way or another.


	9. Chapter 9

Twenty four hours and one short trip later, Sweden stood in his dressing room, staring intensely at the clothes hanging on the back of the door, pulse racing at the thought of what was about to happen. His internal struggle was interrupted by a sharp knock and Denmark’s subsequent entrance.   
  
The Dane was abnormally serious, which only added to Sweden’s anxiety. Denmark gave him a steely look, asking as he pointed to the clothes, “Are you sure about this? It’s a risky move. High reward if it succeeds, but there’s no going back from it.”   
  
Sweden shuffled over to the couch, flopping down gracelessly, rubbing his temples before responding, “I’m sure. I can’t keep playing these games. Not if it’s hurting him.”   
  
“It will be all over the news. Especially since we’re in Helsinki.” Denmark replied.   
  
Sweden laughed a little, giving Denmark a rueful look, voice filled with self-deprecation, “It’s not exactly been a secret for a long time. You of all people should know that.”   
  
Denmark eyed him critically for a moment, as if gauging his seriousness, before breaking into a huge grin, thrusting out two enthusiastic thumbs up and chortling, “Then go to it, my friend! We’re all cheering for you!”   
  
Two hours later when The Nordic Five was nearing the end of their Helsinki show, Sweden was beginning to doubt his bravado as he looked out over the vast teeming audience of excited Finns. Could he really make such a statement in front of all these people? What would his bosses say when they found out?   
  
But then he remembered the subdued Finland he’d encountered before they took the stage, who looked at him with sad and conflicted eyes. Long ago, he’d made a promise to never be the cause of Finland’s sadness again. He owed it to both of them to make this move. He just had to hope that it paid off in the end.    
  
As Norway started playing the opening chords to their final number, the ever popular “Perpetual Holiday,” Sweden’s pulse started pounding. It was time to do this thing. He nodded to Denmark while his fingers went on auto-pilot, his mind unable to process playing bass and what he was about to do simultaneously.   
  
Denmark waved towards the wings of the stage. Excited and beautiful fans poured out from backstage, dancing and skipping across the stage to surround each member of the band. Sweden let himself be accosted by three undeniably good looking men, watching Finland’s angry, but resigned face as the scene unfolded. One of the groupies took Sweden’s bass, setting it aside to give the three pairs of hands full access. Sweden closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and offered a prayer to the gods of love and pop, hoping that this would work.   
  
He opened his eyes and looked directly at Finland. Slowly, slowly, the men undid each button of his top, much to the crowd’s delight and Finland’s dismay. He watched as Finland’s eyes grew impossibly wide and listened to the audible gasp and subsequent shrieking as the sleeveless shirt below was revealed. And then all buttons were undone, the shirt pulled from his arms, and Sweden took a deliberate step away from his un-dressers, standing as tall and confidently as he could in his newly minted white tank-top, crossed once vertically and once horizontally with blue stripes.    
  
_And its done. I’ve shown Finland to whom I’ll always belong, no matter the time, the distance, or the temptation that faces me._   
  
He kept his eyes solely on Finland, who’s expression had transformed from one of jealousy and sadness to something intense and indescribable. He swallowed, wondering what was going to happen when this song finished playing and there was nothing left to hold them back.   
  
He was still rooted to the spot, gaze locked with Finland when the stage went black and the audience exploded in screaming applause. His eyes hadn’t had time to adjust to the dark when a small hand took his in an iron grip, booking no refusal as it dragged him off-stage and shoved him firmly up against a rough wall.   
  
He had one momentary glimpse of Finland’s face, illuminated by the strobe light that had started back in the concert hall, before Finland climbed him like a tree, lips and hands everywhere at once. Shocked but not willing to pass this up, Sweden wrapped his arms around Finland, spreading his legs to hold his weight. Finland kissed him wildly, all tongue and heat, making Sweden’s heart and head spin.   
  
When he pulled away to breathe, Finland slid down his chest, leaning up on his tiptoes, eyes sparking with lust, grabbing Sweden’s shirt in his fists, “Do you mean it? Are you still mine?”   
  
Sweden kissed Finland deeply before replying, “Always.”   
  
Finland looked so relieved, Sweden couldn’t help but kiss him again as a reward. Finland wound his fingers into his hair, pulling hard enough that Sweden had to stop what he was doing and pay attention as Finland growled in his ear, “I hated watching them look at you, touching you. Couldn’t stand it.”   
  
“I noticed,” Sweden murmured in his ear.   
  
Finland looked away for a moment, voice softer, “I was selfish. I thought you would always wait for me. And then I saw how much you could have that wasn’t me. I thought that maybe you decided you wanted something, someone else.”   
  
“You don’t ever have to worry about me not wanting you.”   
  
“Good,” Finland sighed, voice gone breathy, “good,” and seemingly relieved, resumed his previous task of kissing Sweden into mindless oblivion.   
  
Even though it was desperately difficult to pull away from Finland’s eager lips, Sweden made himself ask the question that had been buzzing around his mind since his back had first hit the wall,   
  
“After all these years, what changed? Why now?”   
  
Finland looked thoughtful for a moment, settling back down on his feet, “Being part of The Nordic Five.”   
  
Sweden made a mental note to give Denmark anything he asked for the in future.   
  
Running his hands up and down Sweden’s chest repeatedly (Sweden made another mental note to wear white and blue more often), Finland continued, “After living with others for so long, I didn’t want to do anything that could be bad for my country’s independence, no matter what happened to the rest of me. I wanted to be solely devoted to our freedom after so much struggle...Being in this band taught me that I could sing songs and sign papers. That I could dance and do diplomacy. That I can be more than one thing if it makes me happy...”   
  
Finland broke off, looking away, blushing adorably. Sweden caught Finland’s roving hands, holding them over his heart, waiting for Finland to finish.   
  
Finland took a deep breath, finally looking Sweden in the eyes once again, “It made me think that maybe I could be both a nation and a lover.”   
  
_Lover._  The world stopped for a moment, the noise from the still cheering audience fading into nothingness as Sweden let that word sink in fully.   
  
A slow smile started to creep across his face and he watched Finland fidget, his fingers clenching in his shirt. But he had to be absolutely sure that they were on the finally, finally on the same page, speaking the same language.   
  
He bent down slightly, murmuring in Finland’s ear, “So, are you saying you want to take a chance on me?”   
  
Finland burst out laughing, causing Sweden to blush and pull away before Finland threw his arms around his neck, burying his face in his shoulder, still shaking with amusement.   
  
“Oh, Sweden, really? Never change.”   
  
Still flushed, Sweden held Finland tighter, refusing to let go without an answer, “Well?”   
  
Finland titled his head back, meeting Sweden’s eyes, smirking lasciviously as he let one of his hands drift down lower and lower until his fingers were toying with the infamous unbuttoned button, “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”   
  
Sweden gasped, both from finally hearing what he had long wanted and from the fact that Finland had unceremoniously thrust his hand down his pants.   
  
Finland nibbled on his ear, “So, Sweden, voulez-vous?”   
  
Feeling whatever tiny thread control snap, Sweden kissed Finland desperately, hips moving wantonly in time with Finland’s caresses.   
  
Panting, he stopped kissing Finland only to ask, “You want to do this here? We could get caught.”   
  
Finland laughed, low and dirty, winking at Sweden as he replied, “To quote Denmark: We’re popstars now, baby, this is how we roll!”   
  
_"Well",_  Sweden thought when Finland resumed licking and biting his neck,  _"there’s no arguing with that",_ as he turned his full attention to being a good and proper bad boy of pop.   
  
The next coherent thought Sweden had was  _“I love my life,_ as he lay naked and tangled with Finland on the ratty couch in his dressing room, enjoying the way Finland was raking his nails down his chest and nuzzling his neck. The afterglow always was good.    
  
He was about to say something to that effect when the door flew open, revealing an overly ecstatic Denmark.   
  
As he scrambled to find something to cover them with, Finland yelled, “What the hell! Don’t you knock?!”   
  
Denmark skidded to a halt, taking in the tawdry scene before him, “Whoa! Way to go guys!”   
  
Sweden scowled, finally managing to pull a discarded towel over their laps. Denmark flashed them a thumbs up and wide grin, winking at Sweden and asking, “So, which one of you was on your back?”   
  
Finland put a hand on Sweden’s chest, restraining him from getting up and punching their intruder, tossing out a saucy reply, “Neither. We did it up against a wall backstage.”   
  
Even this only silenced Denmark for a second, who recovered from his shock with an “Nice! I highly approve--very rock star!”   
  
Patience now totally gone, Sweden growled, “Did you want something? We’re busy.”   
  
Denmark laughed, “Dude, I can see that!”   
  
Sensing the murderous rage emanating from his band mates, he wisely continued, his earlier excitement returning full force, “Right! I have the biggest, most amazing, awesome, news ever!” He paused for dramatic effect, waving his cell phone, “After our show finished I got a call. A call that was a summons from one of the goddesses of pop. Yes, that’s right...we’ve been invited to join her majesty, Britney Spears, on her tour this summer! And you know what the means....”   
  
“America!” Finland shrieked, “We’re going to America!”   
  
Denmark fist pumped, “Damn right! Its time for our U.S. invasion!”   
  
Sweden favored Denmark with a rare happy smile, “That is amazing.”   
  
“We totally have to celebrate!” Denmark said enthusiastically.   
  
Finland speared Sweden with a smoky glance, “Oh, we will.”   
  
Suddenly feeling as though the towel was too restrictive, Sweden turned to Denmark, “Thanks for sharing the news. Now get the hell out.”   
  
Holding up his hands in mock surrender, Denmark walked out the door still laughing, leaving Sweden and Finland alone once again.   
  
Sweden settled back down on the couch as Finland leaned over him, shining with happiness, “This is going to be epic.”   
  
Sweden kissed him once, twice, looking into the eyes he loved, agreeing softly, “Epic.”   
  
~The End


	10. Dirty (Dirty) Pop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epic true story of Sweden and Finland having sex backstage up against a wall. (The cut scene from Ch. 9).
> 
> Smut. Lots of smut.

“So, are you saying you want to take a chance on me?”  
  
Finland burst out laughing, causing Sweden to blush and pull away before Finland threw his arms around his neck, burying his face in his shoulder, still shaking with amusement.  
  
“Oh, Sweden, really? Never change.”  
  
Still flushed, Sweden held Finland tighter, refusing to let go without an answer, “Well?”  
  
Finland titled his head back, meeting Sweden’s eyes, smirking lasciviously as he let one of his hands drift down lower and lower until his fingers were toying with the infamous unbuttoned button, “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”  
  
Sweden gasped, both from finally hearing what he had long wanted and from the fact that Finland had unceremoniously thrust his hand down his pants.  
  
Finland nibbled on his ear, “So, Sweden, voulez-vous?”  
  
Feeling whatever tiny thread control snap, Sweden kissed Finland desperately, hips moving wantonly in time with Finland’s caresses.  
  
Panting, he stopped kissing Finland only to ask, “You want to do this here? We could get caught.”  
  
Finland laughed, low and dirty, winking at Sweden as he replied, “To quote Denmark: We’re popstars now, baby, this is how we roll!”

Sweden smirked and sucked on Finland's bottom lip, watching his eyes flutter shut, before he growled, “Please don't mention Denmark when you have your hand down my pants.”

Finland rubbed his palm down the length of Sweden's dick in retaliation, pinching a nipple for good measure. Sweden's head knocked against the wall as he struggled for control. When Finland started to purr against his throat, teasing him with light little touches all over his cock, Sweden decided it was time to regain the upper hand. He stopped Finland's little cocktease by removing the hand from his pants, ignoring Finland's pout in favor of using his own hand to grab Finland's crotch and make him gasp.

He  wrapped an arm around Finland's waist, pulling them close together as he worked down the zipper of Finland's sinfully tight pants, wondering how he managed to fit underwear on underneath.

That little mystery was solved when his fingers met bare, warm skin, and the tip of Finland's cock instead of the cotton he expected. He sucked in a breath, wriggling the jeans down just far enough on his lithe little hips to give Sweden a much wanted eyeful.

Finland swayed his hips into Sweden's greedy touch, smirking at his eagerness.

“Like what you see?” He teased, running his tongue up Sweden's throat and nipping at his Adam's apple.

Sweden hummed in agreement, twisting his wrist to brush against Finland's balls, murmuring, “Do these pants come with any other surprises?”

Finland was clinging to him now, trying to get Sweden to touch him more, panting out, “All my pants came with lube and condoms sewn into the back pocket.”

Shocked, Sweden's hand stopped, and Finland groaned, pulling on his hair, as Sweden growled, “What the fuck?”

He used the hand not currently fondling Finland to reach around to Finland's back pocket, making quick work of ripping open the seam to indeed discover all the tools any man could need for impromptu rock star sex. He palmed them both, figuring they were about to come in very handy.

Finland laughed a little when Sweden waved them in front of his face with a skeptical expression in his eyes, “The outfits are France designed and Denmark approved. What do you expect?”

Sweden rolled his eyes and kissed Finland hard, as he started stroking him in earnest, moving to suck on his ear, whispering, “What did I tell you about saying that name?”

Finland didn't respond, too busy moaning into Sweden's shoulder and thrusting wantonly into the hand on his cock, running his nails up and down Sweden's arms leaving little red trails of passion. His mouth was open, cheeks flushed, eyes shining with lust.

Sweden thought it was the hottest fucking thing he had ever seen. Suddenly, it was of the utmost importance that Finland also find this to be the hottest thing he'd ever done. Sweden wound a hand in Finland's hair, pulling gently so their eyes met, demanding, “Tell me what you want.”

 Finland moaned and gave a breathy laugh, eyes twinkling with mischief as he answered, “What I really, really, want?”

“I am never going to live that down am I?” Sweden groaned, pulling Finland's neck to the side and biting down, using his other hand to give a particularly sharp jerk on Finland's cock, enjoying the way he trembled and sighed.

“Tell me. I'll do anything.”

Finland reached up and licked his bottom lip, tracing his tongue down his chin and jaw, murmuring as he went, “Anything?” 

“Anything.”

“I want you to fuck me. Right here, right now.”

Sweden swallowed and let his head hit the wall again, trying to stave off the urge to come in his pants from the sheer hotness of hearing something so filthy and appealing from Finland's pretty mouth. When he'd managed to calm his racing libido just enough to take control again, he kissed Finland so hard he thought their lips would be bruised tomorrow.

He could tell Finland was surprised when he dropped to his knees, that his lover was wondering why they weren't just skipping to the fuck, but Sweden was determined to do this right. He was glad for the still thumping bass and blaring music from on-stage when he took Finland into his mouth, tasting him for the first time, feeling the slide of his cock on his tongue, because Finland's moan was enough to put any porn star to shame.

He palmed the little packet of lube, grateful for once for French perversion, squeezing it on to his fingers before returning them between Finland's legs as he continued blow him.

It was difficult to maneuver his long fingers within the tight confines of Finland's pants, especially with Finland writhing around, and his mind lit up with images of what he was going to do to Finland as soon as they were behind closed doors.

_He'd take off every stitch of clothing on Finland's body and touch every inch of him with his tongue and his hands before spreading him over his lap and watching him ride his cock. He'd fuck him the shower, all glistening and wet, hands slipping on the tiles as he took him from behind._

His little fantasy was interrupted by Finland doubling over and fisting his hands in Sweden's hair and shouting, “Holy fuck, Sweden, stop or I am going to come.”

Sweden pulled his mouth way, smirking up at Finland from his place on his knees, realizing that he must have gotten rather carried away in the heat of his daydreams. He took his hand out of Finland's pants, fumbling with to push his own down far enough to get his cock out.

“Take off your jeans,” Sweden murmured against Finland's lips, “And then come here.”

Sweden stroked himself as Finland kicked off his pants on shaky legs and reached out his arms to Sweden, quickly finding himself kneeling in Sweden's lap, poised to fuck.

Sweden pulled Finland down as he pushed up slowly, eyes clenching shut at the warm, tight feel of being inside.

“Wrap your arms around my neck,” Sweden gritted out as he put his own hands under Finland's ass and pushed up, using the wall for support. Finland's eyes were wide, pupils dark with lust and approval as Sweden turned them around and shoved Finland up against the wall.

“Oh my God, Sweden, I've never been so glad for your height before in my life,” Finland mumbled as he twined his legs around Sweden's back, digging his heels into sides with each little shimmying movement of Sweden's hips as they rocked together trying to find their balance.

Sweden opened his eyes and looked at Finland, completely at his mercy, clinging to him and surrounding him inside and outside, wanting to possess all of him, feeling his control slip away.

He thrust up sharply as he leaned in to kiss Finland hard enough to knock his head back onto the wall, catching the surprised moan in his mouth, licking around the edges of Finland's lips.

“Hold on,” Sweden growled, rocking his hips back and forth, watching the way Finland's mouth fell open and his eyes fell shut, his head lolling against the wall, fingers gripped in Sweden's hair, slick with sweat. He took Finland's hips between his hands, sliding him up and down on his cock, relishing the utter control he had over their every movement together, the wanton trust Finland was showing him, letting his body be pinned between the wall and Sweden's demanding, unrelenting body.

Sweden spread his legs, lowering the angle of his thrusts, picking up the pace of their fuck, smothering Finland against the wall, sucking and biting his neck and shoulders as Finland ground down against him, taking what control he could by squeezing deliciously tight around Sweden's cock.

Sweden pulled back, taking one the hands still wound in his hair and putting it on Finland's cock between their bodies, continuing to snap his hips forward, feeling that telltale tension starting to work his way up his aching thighs and screaming back, the sight of Finland being fucked and the feel of fucking him too much to let him drag this out any further.

“Touch yourself,” Sweden commanded, gritting his teeth and trying to find just enough control left to make Finland come first. He watched through hazy eyes as Finland jerked himself, shaky and erractic, panting obscenities into Sweden's ear, breath hot and warm, driving him crazy. He pushed up hard one more time, striking the spot that made Finland's eyes fly open with pleasure, feeling Finland come across his shirt, staining the blue and white that had so turned Finland on.

Sweden stilled his thrusts, closing his eyes and riding out the sensation of Finland coming around him, shuddering as he followed suit, spilling inside, trembling as he tried not to tumble them both to the ground, calling on all his strength to keep them both standing as they took in great heaving breaths. Through the roaring in his mind, he absently registered the feel of Finland's fingers tracing through the come on his shirt, clearly as pleased with it now as he was no more than 15 minutes ago.

 _Possessive_ , Sweden thought delightedly as he licked his own mark of ownership on Finland's neck. He raised his head to take in Finland's well fucked appearance, self-satisfaction practically seeping from his pores. They kissed languidly, Finland allowing even more of his body to go post-orgasm boneless in Sweden's hold. Sweden groaned and tried to keep Finland pinned to the wall, pinching him a little in retaliation.

Finland giggled, dirty and happy, sighing, “Mamma mia!”

Sweden felt the need to have Finland again right fucking now stir in his chest and he cursed the inevitable recovery time, growling, “You know what that does to me! Little tease, using ABBA on me.”

Finland winked and surprised Sweden by shifting off the wall, forcing Sweden to take several steps back, still with an armful of half naked man.

“Well, in that case....here I go again!” Finland chortled as running his fingers through Sweden's hair as Sweden attempted to shuffle them towards his dressing room, any dressing room, to get to work on round two.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Title from N'Sync's "Pop"


End file.
